“I will attend service,” he said. “But you will visit the hermit nevertheless, Rosvita. And you will discover whether this holy monk knows of precedent for a child born to a concubine or other unofficial union being named as heir.”
His voice dropped even as he said the fateful words. Only she heard them. But surely every man and woman who followed along on the king’s progress knew what was in his mind: that his eldest child, the bastard son of an Aoi woman who had emerged from unknown lands to enchant the young Henry on his heir’s progress, was and always had been his favorite, though he had three legitimate children by Queen Sophia who were each possessed of a sound mind and body.
She caught a glimpse in his face then of an ancient longing, a passion never extinguished, never fulfilled. But quickly it was covered by the mask of stone worn by the king.
“I will do as you ask, Your Majesty,” she said, and bowed her head to the inevitable. Although surely nothing good could come of this obsession.
IX
THE DRAGONS
1
TEN days after leaving Heart’s Rest, Liath sat on the old stone wall and enjoyed the spring sun. She was tired, but not overly so; free of Hugh, she had recovered her strength quickly.
This moment of respite she used to study the layout of the holding of Steleshame: the dye vats sheltered under a lean-to; the henhouse; two cauldrons spitting with boiling water attended by three women who stirred wool cloth as it shrank; felters at work in the sun; two of the blacksmith’s boys linking tiny iron rings into mail; furs stretched and strung to cure.
Here, within the large courtyard protected by a palisade of wood, lay the remains of an older structure. The Eagles had thrown up an outpost and used the old dressed stone to build a tower for defense. The householder and her relatives lived in a timber longhouse, and the stables were also built of wood. Only the skeleton of the old fort was left, straight lines squared to the equinoxes and the solstices, the map of the sun. She could trace these bones with her eyes, and read, here and there, inscriptions in old Dariyan cut into the stone by the soldiers and craftsman who had inhabited this place long ago.
Lucian loves the red-haired woman.
Estephanos owes Julia eight quiniones.
Let it be known that this outpost has been erected by the order of Arki-kai Tangashuan, under the auspices of the Most Exalted Empress Thaissania, she of the mask.
Liath knelt to wipe dirt from this last inscription, graven into a block of stone half sunk in the ground next to the watering trough. For how many years had it lain here, trampled by horses and cattle, scoured by wind and dust, drenched by rain? She coughed, sucking in a mouthful of dust blown up by a gust of wind. Her fingers, scraping, reached beaten earth; the inscription extended farther yet, buried in the ground.
“‘She of the mask,’” said Wolfhere, behind her. “The heathen empress before whom the blessed Daisan stood without fear and proclaimed the Holy Word and the saving Mercy of the Lady and Lord of Unities.”
Surprised, Liath bolted up unsteadily. Wolfhere smiled, a baring of teeth.
“Do not deny you can read it, child. Both your father and mother were church educated, and when you were but six years of age you could read old Dariyan texts with the skill of a scholar bred in the convent.”
“Surely not,” she blurted out, embarrassed.
His smile now seemed less forced. “Not with the skill of an adult perhaps, but astonishing in one so young. Come, now. There is an armory here, and we must find you weapons that are suitable. Mistress Gisela’s niece is sewing borders on new cloaks for you and Hanna.”
Hanna was already at the tower, trying the weight of swords. She handled the weapons awkwardly. They had traveled for ten days and during that time Hathui and Manfred had tested Liath and Hanna in swordcraft and found them sorely wanting.
“Eagles are not soldiers,” Hathui was saying to Hanna as Liath and Wolfhere paused at the heavy iron-ribbed door that led into the round chamber at the base of the tower. “But you must know how to defend yourself against bandits and the king’s enemies. Ai! What do you know how to do, woman?”
“I can milk a cow, make butter and cheese,” puffed Hanna, “feed twenty travelers a good meal, chop wood, build a fire, salt and smoke meat, ret and spin flax—
Hathui laughed, lowering her sword. She was not winded. “Enough! Enough!” The two women had been sparring, circling while Manfred used a staff to fend off the stray children and dogs and chickens which infested the yard. “The Lady honors those who are chatelaine to a hearth, for is She not Herself Chatelaine to us all? But you’re hamfisted with the sword, Hanna. Manfred, give her a spear.” He obliged, and Hanna had only time to look longingly toward Liath—as if to say “I wish you were here and I there at the door”—before she handed him the sword and took up the spear.
